


We Follow the Morning Star

by latt



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latt/pseuds/latt
Summary: Ignis meets a wayward, dark-haired man. Noctis meets someone who’s not his beloved adviser anymore. Or, melancholic poetry makes for an unimpressed writer.





	1. There Upon the Shore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ignoct Week 2018  
> Day 1 - Simple: Stolen Kisses

A writer mopes about the beach on Cape Caem. Beach is a generous term for the rocky, slippery terrain under the lighthouse where no creature with half a brain could be caught dead in.

Ignis supposes it is childish to crumple his papers up and fling it out to the ocean. But, he guesses the waves had agreed that truly ‘A midnight weary…’ was a terrible way to start a story and thus deserved to be swallowed up by the water. Flopping down on the least hostile rock, he drops his head in his hands and ruminates. This wasn’t working. His book has a grand total of 2 pages even with files upon files of notes and research that should have made words flow through his pen like blood through veins. Not only what wrote lacked in quantity or quality, but it smacked of romanticism and that, as a serious writer, he could not stand. He needs Hemingway, not Poe.

He starts when he hears something like a crack of thunder, and while the sky threatens a storm, with its swollen gray clouds, the sound comes from behind him. Unimpressed now, he frowns at the growing crack up the rock wall of the underside of the cliff. He figures if the writing doesn’t kill him, maybe this stupid lighthouse will: the land around it seems about to collapse at any moment. He sighs, standing and wondering, not for the first time, if he has a death wish.

That’s when he notices the dislodged rocks and the wind-worn stone that encompass the yawning opening at the base of the cliff.  _ Well, that’s new, _ he thinks as his curiosity barely leaves him time to question why he is drawn to it. Heart hammering in his chest, he reaches out and skims his fingers over the raised figures etched into the stone. He pokes his head through and is overcome by… something. A melancholy so deep he backs away from the threshold. He is not a man to be overcome by nameless grief or chilled by unknown horrors. He forges on into the damp sepulcher.

It is cool, he expected it to be cold here. How odd. It is large, and his footsteps echoes, a little creeped out as he walks further into the area with his phone-flashlight raised high. In what he perceives to be the middle of the room, the sarcophagus is just there and maybe Ignis wilts a little inside, as it appeared seemingly from the surrounding darkness like a specter. Yet, he clears his throat and he is still put together, so he’ll be damned if he allows a coffin to terrorize him.

The carved relief that decorates it, depicts something, a battle? Ignis comes closer and brushes his hand over the classical figure in marble that lies on the lid. In a flight fancy, he sighs dramatically, “It is enough for me to prove, that what I loved, and long must love… Oh hell,” he scratches his chin, and mutters, “Something or other rotting… is Nothing that I loved so well!” He abruptly bends down and kisses the lips of the statue.

_ I must be going mad, _ he groans, running a hand through his hair. He supposes he would need to notify the university. The archeology and history department will absolutely die for this opportunity.

Thunder and lightning snaps in the distance. There’s no sense in lingering with this storm brewing, and Ignis makes a mental note that if he wanted to take a sabbatical by the beach, pick something warmer and more hospitable. Galdin Quay sounds nice right about now as he begins the wretched ascent towards the lighthouse.

It was through coincidence then that, as the rain begins to pelt his skin, he looks back and notices the washed-up figure barely clinging to the rocks. Scrambling down the way he came, he reaches them and begins dragging the body away from the clawing waves.

That is when the young man throws up seawater on his shoes then faints. Ignis shivers but he swallows his disgust and hoists him on his back. It is a miserable trek up the slippery terrain, rain stinging and wind whipping his hair into his eyes. After what felt like hours, he finally staggers into the lighthouse and takes a tumble on the wooden floors. Quickly wriggling the him down from his back, he impatiently pushes the dark hair out of the man’s face.

Whoever this is, is ice-cold and pale yet very much alive, which to Ignis is a relief. The last thing he needs is having carried a dead man up to his home. He rushes to the linen closet and yanks out towels and blankets. Stripping the young man down of all the wet clothes, he quickly towels him off, then swaddles him in the blankets. Worry and a small curl of panic begins worming its way through his gut, and he can’t help but frown.  _ Is he warm enough? _

Ignis sighs, noticing how wet and cold he is. He walks up the stairs to the bedroom in the loft, and changes into dry, warm clothes. Going back downstairs, he flips the switch by the fireplace to get the fire going. He chews his lip before giving in and moving the still shivering man (albeit a good sign that his body was fighting against the hypothermia) close to the fire. He only means to have him lie there but the small whimper that escapes the man’s lips when he tries to step away, well, it does something awful to his heart.

Wrapping his arms tighter around the man, Ignis settles them both before the warm glow of the fireplace. With the warmth of the fire and the deep exhaustion in his bones, he dozes off.

\---

He hears his name and when he looks down, his heart feels ready to burst out his chest when wide, blue eyes meet his. Blue like the sky on a star-strewn night when the moon sleeps. Ignis’ face reddens at that thought; if he was a man of book burning, he would have happily torched anything of Byron’s.

The man had finally regained some color, pink high on his cheeks. “Ignis,” he grips his sweater like a vice, “What…what’s going on?” He grimaces and gently pushes up against Ignis.

“I-I apologize,” Ignis takes a hold of his shoulders and pulls away. “Who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please tell me what you think! What did you like, what are you interested it, what kinda didn't work for you? Come yell at me on Tumblr @lattdraws


	2. Forgotten Until Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small beginnings for these two; Noctis recalls Altissia, briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ignoct Week 2018  
> Day 2 - Situational: Noctis learns what happened in Altissia

The man, who had to be his advisor, holds him away and that burns through Noctis like acid. _What’s going on?_ He wriggles his hand out of the blankets to push away his damp bangs. “Ah, why is my hair wet?” He frowns and shifts in the blankets, eyes widening. “Am I naked?”

The man manages a strangled squeak before clearing his throat and taking his glasses off to clean them. “I didn’t look I swear but,” he nervously looks to him then away again, placing the frames back on his nose, “You were wet! And cold. I feared if you didn’t drown, the hypothermia might get you instead.”

Noctis nods, trying to keep from smirking. If this wasn’t _his_ Ignis, he sure acted like it. Outside of their intimacy, Ignis had been stupidly shy of nudity. He wants to press closer, see if he truly was not--he couldn’t fathom that. He refuses to believe that after everything…

_Deep, achingly cold water filling him. Drowning in darkness. An angry, spiteful god. Noctis was an angry, spiteful god too._

He shakes his head and whispers, “Ignis Scientia is not a common name is it?”

Ignis blinks and looks away. “No, not really. How did you know my last name?” He shrugs then. “Perhaps you read one of my books, been to one of my lectures?”

But at this Noctis shakes his head again, partly because none of this was making any sense.

The man frowns, “Tell me then, what is your name? Perhaps that might help me remember.”

Noctis stares, eyes burning. _Remember_. “I’m Prince--King, prince?” Why couldn’t he recall his title...Insomnia fell, he was king. But _His Majesty_ never felt right, until-- He raises his hand to Ignis’s cheek, where the starburst scar should have been. Then he looks at his hand and notes the faint scar around the middle finger. The last thing he remembers is Ignis crying out his name, far away on the bloody altar in Altissia.

\---

Ignis gulps down clear, icy water and places the bottle back into the fridge. He is still trembling from the dark visions that overtook him when the young man had touched him. For a terrified minute, he found himself blind and in indescribable pain.

The man in question had passed out and now rests quietly up on the bed in the loft. Ignis curls his hands into tight fists, biting his lip. A swell of fury and despair washes over him and what frightens him the most is that he does not know where it comes from. Whenever he woke up, they needed to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little short I know; there was pic to go with it but I wasn't happy with it. Oh well :) Chapter 3 will be longer, promise <3
> 
> Hey let me know what you think! What did you like, what are you interested it, what kinda didn't work for you? Come yell at me on Tumblr @lattdraws


	3. A Starlight Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis doubts that he’s a reincarnation of whatever he had been to Noctis; Noctis needs a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ignoct Week 2018  
> Day 3 - Situational: Reincarnation AU

“I’m Noctis Lucis Caelum,” the man murmurs, drawing his knees up to his chest.

It was a childish but endearing gesture, and Ignis, for the millionth time, aches to know more. After coaxing him out of bed and feeding him soup and tea, they had sat down on the soft couch before the fireplace. He frowns then, clasping the tea mug tighter. “Wait, like the king from those myths?”

Noctis perks up, hope etched into his young face. But his expression sours and asks, “What do you mean myth?”

Ignis shrugs and is unable to look him in the eye anymore. “Yes, the Dawn King saga. Quite sad really. Apparently, he was a real historical figure, perhaps of quite some significance, about 500 years ago.” He watches for the man’s reaction. “Noctis is not an uncommon name, although having the king’s whole name seems a bit--”

Noctis grabs a throw pillow and starts screaming into it.

Ignis sets his cup aside, neatly crossing his legs. This was nothing new, really: he’s had frustrated students come into his office raging about an unfair grade here and there. He let the stranger have his moment, but he wonders if he had invited an insane person into his home. Whoever he actually was and whoever _he_ thought he was, Noctis was very comfortable with expressing himself this way.

He finally pulls back, face red and lips curled into a nasty grimace. “This has to be a joke,” he growls, shoving the pillow away. “The Astrals took _everything_ from me and it still wasn’t enough!”

“You believe in the old gods?” Ignis asks, intrigued. When Noctis gives him a blank stare, he adds, “Not many believe in the Astrals anymore.”

“Good,” Noctis picks at a loose thread from the borrowed pajama pants. “Because, they stink.”

Ignis tries to smile, but it falters. What is this unspeakable, shattering feeling that swells in his chest? He clears his throat and picks up his mug again. “Who am I to you?”

Noctis is quick to respond, “Everything.” His lips tremble and those deep, blue eyes cut through Ignis. “You were there with me! You watched me leave, leave for the throne room.”

“Are you saying you are the king from that story, and I was there?” he rolls his eyes. Perhaps this man is insane but he’ll keep playing along. It’s not like he has any writing to do as he resolutely ignores the innocent laptop on the kitchen bar. “If so, we would both be dead.”

Noctis does not respond and instead looks out the window. The rain quietly taps the large bay window. Closing his eyes, he hums quietly.

Ignis takes this time to look at Noctis in his borrowed clothes. His own clothes were too ragged to be of much use so for now he wore a shrunken old sweater and cotton pants. His mind lingers a tad too long on the fact that the young man looked good in his clothing. Gently nudging Noctis, he says, “Forgive my skepticism but reincarnation seems a bit farfetched. Besides,” and here he can genuinely smile. “It is definitely cruel for the gods to have remade me into a writer.”

Noctis cracks his eyes open, then returns the smile with one of his own. “That’s true; you were always a perfectionist.” He places his hand on his chest, closing his eyes again. “Ignis?”

He hums, a certain lightness fluttering in his chest at hearing his name.

“I remember dying.” The words are barely a whisper that floats in the air between them. Ignis places a tentative hand on Noctis’s knee then.

“If what you say is true, then it seems the Astrals have afforded you another chance.” He gets up and takes their empty cups into the small kitchen. Whether this poor man was a lost king or someone lucky enough to survive drowning in the bay, he knew Noctis was hurting. He almost considers himself a coward for turning away and slowly rinsing the cups instead of trying to comfort him.

Like a ghost, the young man appears beside him. Ignis manages to keep his hands steady as he places the cups on the drying mat. “Noctis,” he lets the name sit on his tongue a while before continuing, “Whatever you have gone through, it is not an easy thing.”

“I’m sorry but,” he makes a vague gesture between them and looks at Ignis with wide, teary eyes.

He smiles softly and nods before drying his hands, turning to Noctis. Gathering him in his arms, Ignis loses himself in the clean, salty scent of the man’s skin. It is dark now with the only illumination being the fireplace and low lights of the kitchen. He awkwardly pulls away from Noctis, who groans and hastily steps away.

“I didn’t mean to,” Noctis seems unable to finish his thoughts and stands there, a little lost.

Ignis waves it away and points to the loft, “It is late and you must be awfully tired. Go to bed, Noctis. I can take the couch.” He hears none of the protests and simply shoos Noctis up the spiral staircase.

A few hours later, he is still wide awake on the couch, a blanket abandoned on the floor. His mind mulls over the conversation he had with Noctis and briefly considers the likelihood of reincarnation. But, he shakes his head and neatly labels it untrue. Questions still flit about as his eyes begin dropping, spectral weapons dancing and shimmering behind his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey let me know what you think! What did you like, what are you interested in, what didn't work for you? I REALLY want to know what you think! Come yell at me on Tumblr @lattdraws


	4. Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis gets hurt and Noctis takes care him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ignoct Week 2018  
> Day 4 - Simple: Injury

Ignis gasps, nearly shouts as he rolls off the couch with a loud thud. The scathing pain in his left arm finally subsides only to  be replaced by a dull but growing ache. He whines and makes the mistake of trying to get up using both arms, inevitably slipping when the weight on the injured wrist makes him fold over like a ragdoll. In the swirl of violet sparks and smoke that clouds his vision and the agony that wracks his body, he only thinks to call the stranger that lays upon his bed.

\---

“What happened?” Noctis asks quietly, carefully wrapping the gauze around the tender wrist. He notices Ignis raking a shaky hand though his mussed hair.

“Just a nightmare,” his voice wavers before clearing his throat and continuing, “I must have moved too much and fell. My apologies if I frightened you.”

Noctis watches him from under his bangs. Ignis looks pale, almost sickly, in the bright light of the kitchen. An unhappy feeling flits between his ribs as he purses his lips. “It’s just a sprained wrist. Make sure to wrap it tight, but not too tight.”

Ignis places his hand over the injury when Noct lets him go. He almost misses the warmth and distracts himself by asking, “How do you know all of this?”

“Battle—” Noctis looks away as anger flickers under his subconscious. His greatest fear comes true in the way confusion settles on Ignis’s features. The Astrals were cruel indeed. 

“There has been peace for a few decades now, and you can’t be older than 25,” Ignis scoffs. Yet, uncertainty taints that statement, particularly in the way he refuses to look at him now. 

“Ah, I told you--”

“Ah, yes. You are the Chosen King…” The bitter expression across Noct’s face silences Ignis and whatever he was about to say.

Noct turns to him then. “Your name is Ignis Scientia!”

“Yes?”

Noct pulls at his hair and starts pacing and moves towards the dim living room, waving his arms in a nervous, jerky manner. Ignis turns off the kitchen light and settles down on the couch. He then leans right over Ignis, who wonders if the young man has ever heard of personal space. “What do you know of the story?” Noct demands. “Right, it’s just a story to you?” He looks on the verge of tears.

Something, again that something, pulls at Ignis heart as he places his hand on Noct’s shoulder, who visibly relaxes under his touch. Odd, again. They’re strangers but Noct insists they are not, made most apparent at how quickly he relaxes whenever Ignis touches him. And no, he was not going to wonder why his body godsdamn sings when _he_ does touch him.

He squeezes once, then guides him to sit besides him. Making a thoughtful sound, he searches the depth of his memories to recall the myth of the Chose King of Light. “A very long time ago, by all accounts 500 years ago, a young man, a prince, named Noctis Lucis Caelum sets out on a quest,” he hums, looking at Noct’s wide, blue eyes. He clears his throat, blushing a little at the rapt attention. He only wishes his university students paid half as much attention in his lectures. He continues: “He must bargain with the gods, to defeat the Accursed and bring back the dawn.”

“He had friends,” he whispers, and all Ignis wants to do is hold him and tell him it’s alright. And isn’t that an odd sentiment? He wars with himself for a bit and compromises with the strange impulse by tentatively laying his arm across Noctis’s shoulders, and who all but snuggles closer to him, head dropping onto Ignis’s shoulder. That he did not expect, and he feels increasingly lightheaded. 

“Er, well, yes,” he wracks his brain again for _something_. “The Shield, the Advisor, and the Best Friend. I, I guess there might have been others? But, honestly, I must have some books here for reference.”

“And their names?” his breath ghosts over his chest, some of the warmth curling above Ignis’s collar, making his skin prickle with goosebumps.

Ignis slowly shakes his head. “I am certain of this: their names are not known on any records that have survived.”

Noct stands up then and, trembling, walks towards the window, and in one manic second Ignis thinks he is about to jump. But, he only crosses his arms and all of sudden he seems, to Ignis, small and sad. “The Shield is-was—” he sighs “Gladiolus Amicitia. The Advisor,” and here he turns around and pronounces emphatically, “Ignis Scientia. The Best Friend, Prompto Argentum. They were, are? My best friends.” 

Ignis doesn’t like this joke anymore. This isn’t funny anymore. He wants this to stop, _now_. Noctis steps closer to him, peers into, what he feels, right into his soul.

“But, Ignis was something more. _Is_ someone more to me than an advisor, a friend.” Ignis now expects the tentative hand on his cheek, the searching look. Curling his fingers around Noct’s hand, he gently pulls them away. Whoever this man thought he was, Ignis was not it. His heart had no right to break like it did though when he took in Noctis’s forlorn expression. No right at all.

He shakes his head, running both hands through his hair. “I am sorry, Noctis. I just--” Ignis takes a deep breath, letting the soft pattering of rain soothe his nerves. “It is late; we should probably get some rest.”

Noct says nothing as he makes his way up the stairs again. He listens for Ignis’s movements then to the steady rhythm of sleep. It is only then he allows himself to curl into a tight ball on the empty sheets. He pays no mind to the soundless tears that slip down his cheeks as he sinks into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I'm not late, at all :>
> 
> Hey let me know what you think! What did you like, what are you interested in, what didn't work for you? I REALLY want to know what you think! Come yell at me on Tumblr @lattdraws
> 
> Also, not gonna lie, I'm kinda stuck. I need ideas and I just need a boost to finish this all by day 8 xD


End file.
